


Kankri: Remember

by cthchewy (pyrrhic_victoly)



Series: ancestor feels (excuse me while I sob in the corner) [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Reincarnation, sucks to be a blood player
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 09:30:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8008150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrrhic_victoly/pseuds/cthchewy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Click, click, click, memories unlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kankri: Remember

“Mother?” You grasp her large cool hand before closing your eyes. “Please sing me a song.”

Mother sings of suns and moons. Her voice soars high and dips low, rumbles fierce and coos sweet. When she sings of how all the little ones have a place in the world, how every troll is loved by a lusus, you miss the hitch in her breath.

All you care is that she holds you tight, and you are safe.

 

* * *

 

You’re older now. Mother wears contacts and puts on olive lipstick instead of the jade she uses when you’re by yourselves. You’re still too young to worry about eye color, but she hands you a vial of thick, rusty bronze liquid to slip into your pockets.

“Put this on your wounds if you receive any. Dab on a little with your sleeve to cover a bruise, or a few droplets if you’re cut. The brown will mix with your red to make it darker.”

You nod and accept her commands in silence because Mother worries when you don’t. She fears for your safety because you are, or so you’ve been told, a mutant.

It’s unfair. You once asked her why mutants were hated, but all she said was, “That’s just the way of the world, my child.”

The two of you make it safely through the market and are sheltered at an inn for the day. You fall asleep at moonset and dream, for the first time, of a world where culling was outlawed.

At next moonrise, you awake feeling as if you’re lost. Not just that you don’t belong due to your mutant status, but that you’re in the wrong dimension entirely. The feeling persists for days and days afterward, as do the dreams.

Just snippets, here and there. Trolls of all blood colors standing together, working together to build a better future. Squabbling with each other, sometimes, over the most inane things because their lives were already so good that they had the privilege of being concerned about seemingly trivial things like stripping one’s speech of all obscenities instead of the issues you find most pressing, like culling and slavery.

You try to tell Mother, and she listens, but then she tells you to focus on the important things, like culling and slavery. Mother is right, of course. You don’t want to die.

At the next town, you see her: the Empress.

She’s not actually there, of course. It’s just a broadcast, but you stare in awe because for all you’ve heard of her terrifying prowess, you’ve never actually _seen_ her before.

...Or have you?

Long hair, cascading down the backs of her thighs. The bright golden glint of jewelry. A trident, held confidently in hand. Snarls and threats, a short fuse, and explosive temper… And also smiles, friendly touches for her friends, and tears when she realized she had failed as a leader and led them to their doom.

Another piece of the puzzle falls in place.

“Meenah?” Your eyes widen in sudden remembrance. “Meenah, what happened to you?”

Meenah imperiously demands the slaughter of those who oppose her. She laughs as the latest execution sprays blood all the way up to her seat. She licks yellow droplets off her lips and grins. Meenah is not the Meenah of your memories.

You want to cry for her – for who she was, who she is, and who she could have been. But you can’t. You’re out in public and your tears will give you away.

You pull your cloak more firmly over your head. Click, click, click, memories unlock. Mother is not Mother, but Porrim Maryam. She’s never told you her wigglerhood name; said she gave it up when she left the caverns.

Turning away from the bloody scene, you flee to the marketplace in search of your mother, finding her examining bolts of cloth.

“Excuse us,” you say to the shopkeeper before pulling her away into a dim alleyway.

“What is it, Kankri?”

“Porrim,” you call. “Porrim Maryam was your name.”

She narrows her eyes, gaze darting left and right. “How did you know? Has anyone told you?”

You shake your head. “I saw it, in visions. Mother, my dreams are not like other dreams.”

Mother would never desert you – this you hold to be true above all else. You are still beyond relieved when she gathers you in her arms as she used to, and whispers into your ear.

“I always knew you were special.”

 

* * *

 

If any of your other friends are out there, you will find them. Some of them, the warmer bloods maybe, or those who were always more concerned for social justice like yourself and Porrim, must have been able to resist the call to violence. They won’t remember you, but perhaps they can remember bits of themselves.

Once, in a peaceful land, you were an over-privileged child with no concept of true evil. You were so, so stupid then. You never knew when to listen instead of talk. In your heart you apologize to your friends long gone, to those you never took the chance to get to know better, and those you pushed away on your useless quest for self-righteousness. True injustice has been laid bare before your eyes, and it is time you practiced what you once preached.

Your goal in this life is the same as in the last: to abolish the caste system. Your weapons are the same: your words. Only, this time you’ll put everything on the line.

It’s not a game anymore.


End file.
